It Was A Very Good Year
by sandlapper
Summary: Hermione reflects on her life.


A/N Just playing in the Rowling sandbox, and listening to Sinatra.

When I was seventeen, it was a very good year.

I spent my seventeenth year on the run. We hid, lurking in the dark, at the edge of the light. We camped in forests, beside rivers, on moors, and in the mountains. We suffered the rain, snow, wind, and heat, along with lack of food, and more often than not, lack of morale. Just when things would seem the bleakest though, and hope was something we only dreamed of, we would make a breakthrough, and the cycle would begin its vicious wheel all over again. Stealing across quiet village greens, we watched other kids our age living life, playing at adulthood, with no idea of the storm that was brewing at the perimeter of their worlds. We would nab what food we could, leaving money when we had it. I never knew if anyone ever opened a purse, or put a hand in their pocket and pulled out the acorns and leaves I had painstakingly transfigured. There are laws in magic that keep one from creating wealth from nothing, but transfiguration, well that was something I was pretty good at doing. Sometimes I wonder if the spells held after my wand was broken during the Final Battle. We never heard anything in the news, and I went so far as to scour the tabloids also. Surely there would have been mention of a counterfeit money scandal.

The lowest point of year seventeen was when Ron deserted us. Not only had he betrayed his friendship with Harry, he betrayed me, Hermione Granger. The one who loved him from afar for so long, who wanted nothing more than for him to notice that I was a girl worthy of more than a passing glance. Oh, I am well aware of the fact that I am no prize, with ink stained fingers, smudges on my face, and a book perpetually in my hand, but I loved him. Well, I thought I did. The one silver lining to that dark cloud was my discovery that Ron Weasley was not someone I wanted to be with permanently. We were total opposites. I could overcome that, but I could never forgive him for not being there when we needed him the most, when I needed him. Of all his faults, the selfishness was the one thing I couldn't live with or forgive.

Even after he came back and things came to a head, I knew what feelings I had for him had settled into that warmth of cordial friendship. We never had that sibling closeness. I was the third wheel to the Whirling Dervish that was Harry and Ron's relationship. I was at once mother, teacher, auror, and conscience. And that was fine with me. I might be only seventeen, but it was time to be the adults we claimed to be, to put away childish things. Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort, and even though all I wanted to do was to run to my mum and let her and dad hold and comfort me, we had the onus of rebuilding our battered world. That is what's on my mind tonight as I watch Mum and Dad return to their home. The streetlamp glows softly as I stand in the shadows and feel so much older than my seventeen years. People always said we were too young to fight this war, but we showed them by fighting and dying and winning. My age has never been a barrier for me. It was just a number, a milestone on the journey of life. As the print hanging in my father's den says, "Age is a matter of the mind, if you don't mind, it doesn't matter". And our enemies just didn't care.

When I was twenty-one, it was a very good year.

My twenty-first year was one of discoveries, of losses, of thrills, and of pain. My parents and I had to work to recapture the closeness we had had before I obliviated them. It took some time, and the help of Professor McGonagall, but we got past my actions and grew close again. Of course, it was just in time for a new crisis. I lost my father to cancer. He developed lung cancer, and by the time it was found, it was too late to do more than make him comfortable and say everything we needed to say before we couldn't. His loss showed me that it didn't matter how old you were, losing your parent made you feel like a child again. So, I did what I was known for in school. I threw myself into my studies, anything that would keep the loss at bay. Professor McGonagall was once again a life-saver in that she offered me an apprenticeship. Transfiguration had always been one of my favorite classes, and it proved easy to get lost in once again. My mother threw herself into her own work, and eventually began to date one of her patients. She thought I would be upset, that I would think she was replacing Dad, but I knew she was lonely. She was only in her fifties, still too young to be put out to pasture, so to speak. I had my own life to live, so I was determined that she should have hers also.

Almost a year after Dad's passing, I completed my Transfiguration Apprenticeship. That was when I made my first discovery. I didn't know what to do next. I loved the discipline of my chosen subject, but now what? I wasn't sure that I wanted to be a teacher as Professor McGonagall seemed to be hinting. I had too much else that I wanted to do first, to be tied down for extended periods. My second discovery was that I needed to move away from my comfort zone. I had moved back home after Dad died, but now Mum needed her space, and so did I. For several weeks I looked at cottages, flats, and rooms. I finally found a flat right inside Muggle London from Diagon Alley. It was a large flat, and I shared it with two other girls including Ginny Weasley. The other flats on our floor were all filled with girls like us. They were going to uni, or working for the Ministry. Several had apprenticeships. We were all magical or squib, so it was almost like being at Hogwarts again, except this time there weren't as many petty jealousies or tantrums.

My third discovery came about a month after I moved into my new home. Ginny and I had been talking about the future - hers with Harry, and mine with, well, I was looking at academics, not much else. She had made a comment about an injury she had gotten playing Quidditch. The team doctor had done everything they could, but there was still a scar. I was returning from a class I was taking at uni, completely absorbed by the thought of removing unsightly scars permanently. Rather than watching where I was going, I was hurrying to get to my flat so I could transcribe my thoughts. Potions. I needed potions. The thought thrilled me with its newness. It also made me sad in a way. One reason I had thrown myself into Transfigurations was because there was no Potions master with whom to apprentice. I would settle for nothing but the best, but he was gone. However, I now knew what I wanted to do with my life, and I was determined to find a way.

The thought of Professor Snape was like a blow to me. My one regret in my short life was that I had not done more to help Professor Snape in the Shrieking Shack. I prided myself on my maturity, on my ability to think as an adult, but this time... It all happened so quickly, but I was able to think on my feet usually. Why did I not take a breath and just one moment to help him. That no body was later found, comforted me NOT at all. Of all the nightmares that I suffer, the ones about Professor Snape are the worst. All that changed in an instant. One moment of inattention, and I stumbled on the sidewalk and fell towards the street and an oncoming car. A firm hand grasped my arm, pulling me up, and holding me steady. I looked up into eyes I thought I would never see again outside my dreams. All I remember hearing as the darkness closed over me in a wave, was a sigh of exasperation. Little did I know that moment would change my life in ways I could never have imagined.

When I was thirty-five, it was a very good year.

My thirty-fifth birthday was just another number on the calendar. All my birthdays were. I wasn't interested in the "Youngest Witch, Youngest Potioneer" accolades that had been thrown at me for several years now. I never had been. Hogwarts had cured me of that vanity rather swiftly. And the culmination of my life's work just led to more publicity. I suppose if I had been older, it wouldn't have been as impressive. However, media aside, it had been a very good year, I had reached the summit of my chosen career field. I had begun to revolutionize medical potions and transfigurations with the help of the love of my life. We had created ways to counter Dark Magic that had never been dreamed of, much less theorized. Our first success was the eradication of dark curse scars. The second was when I was able to introduce Neville Longbottom to his mother. Unfortunately, his father had died some time earlier, but we were able to create a potion that countered the effects of the Cruciatus Curse. That day, and the day I removed the remains of the Dark Mark from Severus' arm, were two of the three most important days of my life. The first was the day that I stumbled in the sidewalk, and changed my life forever.

I had never thought to see Severus Snape again outside of dreaming, and there he was in all his snarky glory. I don't normally have fainting spells, but seeing him overwhelmed me like a breaker crashing on the shore. Luckily, we were near the flat he had taken, and when I awoke, I found myself on a comfortable sofa surrounded by books. All I could think was that I was dead. Obviously, I was, as Professor Snape had been the one to catch me as I fell towards the street, and oncoming traffic. And now, I was in what could only be described as my own personal heaven... a library with no librarian! My greedy eyes drank in the lovely sight, as my nose took in the heady scent that reminded me of Amortentia - ancient parchment and ink. Soon enough my reverie was broken, and it didn't take me long to discover that I was not dead, nor was Severus Snape.

As I sat there staring in disbelief tinged with some awe, the Professor busied himself with tea things. There were so many things running through my mind, I didn't know where to start. I needed to know how he had survived, where he had been, what he had been doing, did anyone else know he was alive. When I was able to articulate a question, not one of those questions came out of my mouth. I will never forget the look of shock, and the sound of rusty laughter as my dour, former Potions master collapsed into laughter when I asked if he would teach me potions.

And, he did. I apprenticed with Master Snape for almost five years. A long time for certain, but every time Severus would reach the end of what he said he could teach me, a breakthrough in his own private research would broaden the horizon. Between Severus and myself, we conquered the world of medical potions. With our knowledge of Potions, my expertise in Transfiguration, and Severus' surprising knowledge of Charms and Arithmancy, we created several patented potions and the Scar Removal Cream.

On the day of my thirty-fifth birthday, I arose as was my habit, and watched the sun rise. My husband, as was his habit on this day, rose and woke the children. I joined them at the table, where my birthday breakfast awaited. My favorite foods, and several gifts were sitting on the table, and the children were bouncing in their seats, eager for me to open them. I smiled at my little family, and thought how, even at the young age, relatively, of thirty-five, I had lived a lifetime. I could only dream of the things to come. So many days stretched out before my mind's eye, so many things left to do and see, my husband and I had another lifetime to build.

But now the days are short, I'm in the Autumn of the years.

I stared at myself in the mirror. All I could see were tear stains and wrinkled skin. My eyes were red and inflamed. In short, I was a mess. I hadn't really paid attention to how Severus' hair had become so streaked with silver, or how his hands now trembled when he held something. He had started moving slower, but had never faltered in his attentions to me. We still brewed occasionally, but mostly we travelled to various Potions Conferences where Severus was a sought after consultant, and I presented papers I had written on different theories.

Life was sweet. We saw our children and grandchildren, we travelled, we read, and we loved. Then, Severus left me. He was my teacher, my mentor, my lover, my husband. He was my taskmaster, my sounding board. He had, at times, tried to send me away, to push me away. But, I persevered. And, he softened. And we married, and created a family. He was my life and my love, and now I had to say good-bye to my heart.

We had a wonderfully full life. As I look back, I can taste the sweetness of it, smell the bouquet of a fine, old wine. Clear and sweet, even to the dregs, I would drink of this life again and again. I could never have imagined this life as I hid from a Dark Lord, or grieved for my lost father, or climbed the stairs at my London flat. Running into Severus that day, learning from him, teaching him, loving him, was not something that I had dreamed about. From student to teacher, from friend to husband and father, Severus was more than a dream come true to me. He was everything.

My father always said that age was a matter of the mind, if you don't mind, it doesn't matter. I have never let my age affect me or my actions. When Severus and I began seeing each other as more than friends, he worried about our ages, but I never let it impact us or our decisions. But, now I find I mind my age very much. How can I live without my heart? Barring outside influence, I have another thirty or so good years. Staring at myself in the mirror, I dread the empty days before me.


End file.
